High Emotion
by The Marvel Encyclopedia
Summary: Stydia one-shot series where each chapter is a different emotion. Chapters vary in rating, but mainly Mature. "He infuriated her, just the way that sarcasm oozed from his smirking lips and the way he knew exactly what to say to cheer her up, or cut her down - he knew her, so very very well. And that was annoying to her."
1. Jealousy

_A.N: This is going to be a one-shot Stydia series where each chapter is a new emotion and completely unrelated to the previous chapters. Some will be smutty, I will specify those, this one isn't. Please request an emotion if you'd like_

_I'm a massive Stydia shipper and I love writing fanfiction for them only the last one I uploaded didn't actually get any reviews so I felt a little deflated and gave up so (as I'm sure every other author on this site will agree) more reviews = more writing - and better quality stuff too._

_As usual, only proofread by me so excuse any mistakes._

_DISCLAIMER: not mine, or Alison wouldn't have died and there would be no Stalia._

* * *

><p><strong>Jealousy.<strong>

This wasn't jealousy. Lydia Martin didn't do jealousy, it wasn't in her vocabulary.

But then again, it was. Not the usual _'you stole my man you bitch!'_ type of jealousy, or the _'I want him all to myself'_ kind either, this was far simpler, more straight forward, less complex.

This was_ 'I want my friend back.'_ This was _'I need my friend back.' _

Lydia was willing to share him, she didn't need much; just to know he was there when she had a nightmare, or a problem that needed fixing, or if she just wanted a hug - just like he used to be. Before _she_ came along. _Malia._

She had tried talking to the coyote about it, she tried to explain that Stiles wasn't her property to keep a hold of. But it was like talking to an untrained puppy she thought, all wide eyed and shocked at the suggestion. Lydia figured there were worse metaphors.

_{ "It's just that... Stiles and I, well we've been friends for a really long time, we've been through a lot together and I miss him, that's all."_

_"But he's with me now," was the coyote's reply, "I don't like you being near him."_

_"Why? Malia, he really likes you, you have nothing to worry about. I just want my friend back."_

_"No. I have loads to worry about, you two have history, and chemistry and that stupid emotional tether thing, and I mean... you're gorgeous," Malia replied, somewhat friendly Lydia supposed and she suddenly felt an ounce of pity for this girl, until she spoke again, harsher this time, "So stay away from him or I will eat you, I don't care if Stiles says it's bad manners, I will do it." }_

Yeah, that girl's a keeper.

Lydia tried to stay away, not because she was worried about being eaten - she knew Stiles would never let Malia do such a thing - but because she figured, _maybe it's better for him._

She was confused to say the least.

All these thoughts about jealous had her thinking, is this more?

She cared for Stiles, every fibre of her body ached to know that he was okay, she knew she would go insane if anything happened to him.

He infuriated her, just the way that sarcasm oozed from his smirking lips and the way he knew exactly what to say to cheer her up, or cut her down - he knew her, so very very well. And that was annoying to her.

Lydia hated seeing him with Malia, the way the coyote who was in desperate need of house training draped herself all over him, to the point where Stiles became so flushed with embarrassment he had to take a few steps away from her. Stiles wasn't a big fan of over the top PDA, Lydia knew that - Lydia knew him.

If she were with him, they'd stand side by side, hand in hand with her leaning slightly into him, shoulders touching.

When they sat at the lunch table, she would sit on his lap like Malia did, as if she were some excitable puppy, no. Lydia would be by his side, his hand resting at the hem of her skirt, an intimate but appropriate place. She'd read from his text book from over his shoulder as he revised, she wouldn't throw the book away and demand his attention like Malia did. She'd support him, and his education, like real girlfriends should.

It enraged Lydia that Stiles had to pretend he didn't care about her anymore. When they were stranded in the middle of nowhere being attacked by god only knows what in the Mexican desert all those months ago, after Malia wanted to leave her to die, she had told Stiles that she was petrified, literally shaking with pure fear when he asked her to keep the torch still. She saw him look up into her eyes, she could see the worry and concern that lay in the orbs, but he took one glance back at Malia and ordered her to be less scared. That was Stiles, her Stiles would never have said that. _Her Stiles?_

Lydia wanted her friend back. she wanted Stiles back - her Stiles - she wanted to curl up on the couch with him and watch movies till dawn, she needed to know that she could rely on him to talk her down from a nightmare, not matter what time of the night it was, she needed to know he'd be there. She just... she _needed_ him. She felt like she couldn't breathe without him, she felt like she was drowning without him. She needed _him._

And she knew she didn't have him.

And that hurt.

But what hurt worse was that she didn't know how she needed him, what she wanted him to be to her. Was it purely intellectual? Just partners in crime like Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson - she's always be Sherlock in that situation, she decided.

Or was it just friendship? A shoulder to cry on and a warm embrace. Someone to cry if she died, to comfort her when she cried, to comfort her when she was sad, someone to talk to when she needed him. Like they had been once.

But it could have been more, Lydia knew that, it wasn't just Scott who picked up on the way her heart skipped a beat when he came near, or how it fluttered when he smiled at her.

Kira wasn't the only one to pick up on the fact that her eyes linger way too long to be 'just friends' or how she avoided eye contact all together when he had Malia draped over him like a second skin.

Malia was right when she said they had a history, that they had chemistry - Lydia knew that too.

But she was never certain her feelings were anything but friendly, at least until Malia tried to get under her skin at the lunch table.

"Hey Scott," the coyote called over the table to the werewolf sat between Lydia and Kira, "did Stiles tell you about last night?"

Scott chocked slightly on his water, surprised that the girl had tore her attention from nuzzling Stiles like a hungry cat to make eye contact "Uh, no he didn't."

"Stiles," Malia turned to the boy beside her, swatting his arm so hard that it knocked the food off of his fork, then she turned her attention to Scott, taking glances at Lydia opposite her who had looked up from her textbook to hear the conversation, "I guess I'll just tell you all then. Stiles took me to this really fancy restaurant just outside of Beacon Hills, I think the food was Chinese, so you would have loved it Kira."

"Japanese," Kira corrected her, earning a confused glance from the coyote.

Malia shook her head, "No, Stiles definitely said the food was Chinese."

"No I'm..." Kira was the one to shake her head this time, "Never mind."

Lydia knew which restaurant it was, she and Stiles had been there a couple of times before to celebrate birthdays or good grades together, in fact they had started just calling it 'our restaurant' since it was their go-to place. Malia knew this, Lydia was certain by the way Malia smirked at her that Stiles had told her, and for some reason, it was the last straw.

The strawberry blonde stood up, leaving her food half eaten on the table and gathering her textbooks and bag, "I'm gonna go," she said before walking away, heading straight for the door of the girls bathroom.

* * *

><p>Lydia heard the doorbell ring before the urgent knock on the door and she hurried down the stairs of the empty house barefooted, her hair was a mess, simply thrown up in a bun so it didn't get stuck to her cheeks with tears. She wore light coloured and ripped jeans with the stretched with age denim folded up away from her ankles and red paint from her science project splattered on the top of the left leg, they were her comfy trousers, the ones no one but Stiles had seen her in, they were high waisted, just covering her belly button but she wore a grey and pink floral, long sleeved tank top that left about an inch of her creamy skin exposed.<p>

Normally she'd shudder at the thought of someone seeing her like this, mascara smeared and lipstick removed, but right now she didn't care.

She flung the door open, expecting to see the pizza delivery man arriving on time for once, but no - she came face to face with a sight for her own sore eyes.

Stiles.

"Hey," he says slowly and carefully, aware that she's been crying. Before Malia, he wouldn't have hesitated to pull her into his chest and let her cry into the crook of his neck. But this was post-Malia, and so he just stood in the doorway to her home, shifting uncomfortably between his feet.

"You shouldn't be here Stiles," Lydia replies to him.

"I came to see if you were okay, you left pretty quickly at lunch and I didn't see you the rest of the day," he tries to smile warmly, and fails "Can I come in?"

Normally, he would've walked past her slight frame and straight into the household just as she opened the door, back before Malia that is, his question isn't one he often asks.

Lydia doesn't answer, instead she continues to stand in the doorway opposite him, "Does Malia know you're here?"

"Why would that matter?" He asks abruptly, adding a short breath of laughter.

But tonight, she's standing her ground, never mind the fact that it's starting to rain outside and drizzles of water are splashing down on Stiles' head, "It just does."

"No, she doesn't know I'm here."

"Then I don't you coming inside would be a good idea," she replied, and not because she's scared of Malia, not even in the slightest, but because she wants him to know what it feels like to have the coyote come between the two of them.

Stiles' lips pull at the corners and he shines his signature smile, so Lydia knows there's a joke coming, "Will you come outside then?"

Not wanting to give in and return his smile, but not wanting to slam the door in his face either, Lydia slips her feet into the sky-high heals to her side and storms out into the rain.

She walks past Stiles and to about halfway down the elongated driveway, stopping to let Stiles grab the house key kept in a glass bowl by the door and shut the house up to save the entrance from the cold and the rain, then he jogs towards her, knowing to stop a couple of meters away from her.

"What was wrong earlier?" he wastes no time in asking, looking straight at her while Lydia crosses her arms around her stomach and stares at the ground.

"Nothing, it was stupid," she replies, still not meeting his eyes.

"If it made you upset then it's not nothing," he argues, and Lydia gets a small glimpse at the old Stiles - her Stiles.

Even this small glimmer of hope that he's still in there makes her give in, "No really, it was stupid, I shouldn't have let her get to me."

"Who?" He asks, blind spotted.

Lydia releases a unbelieving and dark chuckle beneath her breath, and answers "Malia," as if it were the most obvious answer there was, "She's been winding me up for months now, I don't know why I've only just taken offense, but I have."

_You do know, _her subconscious called to her_, it's because you've realised you have feelings for him. For Stiles._

"Yeah," Stiles sighs, "I've noticed that."

"You've noticed that?" Lydia asks calmly and getting no reply, only to repeat the question, louder this time, more demanding. "You've noticed that? And you didn't say anything to her?" Another dark laugh is lost to the wind and suddenly Lydia becomes aware of just how cold and wet from the rain she is, "You know, all this time I was worried that I was slowly loosing you, but now I've realised... You were already gone."

She pulls strands of loose curls from her rain soaked face and storms past Stiles, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, but as she tears past him, his hand takes possession of her wrist and pulls her close to him. "What do you mean 'loosing me'?" he asks, slowly moving his hand up to wipe the tears that are falling to mix with the rain, but she jerks her face away, making it very clear that he does not have the right to perform such an intimate display.

"I miss you Stiles!" She screams up at him, glad she chose to put on heals so she could come closer to meeting his eyes dead-on, "You haven't been my friend since you started going out with _her_, she changed you!" The way Lydia spat the word 'her' at him made Stiles flinch, he'd never seen her so brute and pisses off before.

Anger wells up inside of him at the accusing tone and soon he's shouting too, "I can't be at your beck and call all the time Lydia, I'm allowed a life outside of you!"

"I don't want you here all the time, I just want to know that I can rely on you, that you care, that you're my friend, and since you've been with her you haven't so much as looked at me." Her voice had softened halfway through but returned to it's high and forceful tone towards the end again as she saw the hurt register in his eyes.

She doesn't have time to register what happens next, the first thing she's aware of is his hands on either side of her face and pulling her forward with so much force she stumbles into him and their lips crash together. There's only time for too fast as they grasp and bite at each other, drowning in one another and being reborn once again, Lydia's hands fist at Stiles' shirt and pull him as close as he can possibly get.

But then reality dawns on her and she uses the leverage she has on his shirt to push him away as quick as she had pulled him to her, "We can't."

"Why not?" He questions, and she looks up at him and scoffs unbelievingly.

"You and Malia."

"There is no me and Malia."

"No, that's because it's Malia and I."

"Fine, there is no Malia and I."

His words register on her face and Lydia gasps, "What?"

Stiles cups her face in his hands again and Lydia's grasp locks around his wrists, ready to pull them from her skin if he says something she doesn't want to hear.

"I broke up with her," he replies, Lydia opens her mouth to ask why but he's too fast and knows her too well, answering her question before she's even asked it, "because she made me choose between you and her. The moment she said it I realised that I wasn't in love with her, how could I be? I've always been in love with you."

That's all it takes for Lydia to realise that she has him back - _her Stiles_, and to know just what he means to her and her to him.

Their lips crash together once more.

* * *

><p><em>A.N: REVIEW PLEASE.<em>


	2. Curiosity

_A.N: a really long, smutty one._

_I hope it works and yes, it does start off as Sheriff Stilinski's morning but it doesn't stay that way, it's just an extra._

_As always, REVIEW PLEASE_

* * *

><p><strong>Curiosity.<strong>

Sherriff Stilinski is always up at the crack of dawn.

He wishes it was otherwise, it really caught up with him when he worked the late shift and still rose as the sun did, but it really wasn't his fault. He just can't sleep while the sun is awake.

Don't get him wrong, the odd five minute snooze in his arm chair if he'd worked through the night was something he could just about pull off, but as soon as he realised it was light outside – he was up.

He thinks it's something to do with his job.

And his son – Stiles – who would go into hibernation if not for his dad wafting the smell of bacon and coffee up the stairs every morning before school.

He was just hotwired as an early-bird.

Totally not his fault.

Five in the morning the sun decided to sneak a peek into the sheriff's bedroom through his think white curtains, and it was quarter past by the time he brewed the first pot of coffee of the day, already dressed in his uniform ready for the six thirty shift at the station.

He figured he'd wake Stiles before he left, despite it being a Sunday. He had a lot of work to catch up on, now that no supernatural beings were trying to kill him and his friends. Stilinski could argue that this was his first real mistake.

Just like every other morning, the sheriff made a coffee up for his son and stuck some bacon on, opening the kitchen door to let the smell drift up to Stiles.

The boy didn't come down straight away, not like he usually did.

The dad had to leave soon and he was adamant he wasn't leaving his son in bed when he did. He figured Stiles just hadn't gotten the smell yet, so he shouted up to him – just the teen's name echoing through the house.

Again nothing.

Sheriff Stilinski thought this was curious, in all the years he'd been raising this boy the only time he hadn't rushed down to the smell of breakfast was when he was ill, and he had been fine last night, he'd come home just after his father went to bed after watching movies at Scott's with the pack, even Derek had shown up. Stilinski hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary when he heard Stiles pad up the stairs, the noise echoing and sounding like two footsteps and not one.

He'd even heard Stiles moan when his head hit the pillow, again perfectly normal for the teen.

But then he noticed that Stiles' shoes weren't by the door like they usually were in the mornings, something only someone with his keen detective eye would have picked up on. Stiles made a point to take his shoes off, unless he was in a rush to get upstairs. _Maybe he is ill._

So – as the concerned and curious dad he was – Stilinski called the station and said he'd be ten minutes late, finished making Stiles' breakfast, something he'd usually leave up to his son when he awoke, and plodded up the stairs, tStiles in hand.

The bedroom door belonging to the teen was closed shut, the father noticed, something that again never happened. Stiles was very peculiar about his door, preferring to have it open (he said it was for his own benefit but the sheriff knew better – Stiles was keeping an eye on his father, even in his sleep,) he even left it open when Scott was over. But no, this morning it was shut tight and Stilinski saw the sunlight seeping under the entrance.

Curiosity was burning through the naturally inquisitive man and he placed a light knock onto the wooden door before him, so light that he doubted anyone on the other side could hear it. But it was only to be polite, he slowly opened the door slightly ajar anyway and paused before stepping in.

The sight before him was one to behold.

Stiles lay on his back in the middle of his bed as per usual, a hand tucked under his head casually and his bare chest free of cover, the sheets obscuring his waist down so that only the waistband of his pyjama bottoms peeked out from under them. His eyes were shut tightly and his expression content.

Nothing out of the ordinary there.

But to his left, with strawberry blonde locks spilling over the boy's bare chest was Lydia, her head tucked neatly into the crook of Stiles' neck and his other hand around her waist as hers lay over his heartbeat.

She was dressed – Stilinski thanked the gods for that, but he noticed she was covered in one of his son's shirts, giving the sheriff and damn god indication of what happened the night before.

The middle aged man placed the tStiles down on the floor of Stiles' room and tiptoed out, reminding himself that he needed to give his son a pat on the back later.

He realised it was a long time coming, the pair were made for each other. But he never expected them to be so quiet about it, he had envisioned a marching band and writing in the sky to declare that they were giving 'more than friends' a go.

So he was slightly disappointed at how he discovered the two of them were together.

But he was damn glad he was such a curious person, seeing them together was one of the proudest moments of his life, something that one day – way off into the future – he would tell his grandchildren.

* * *

><p><em>Seven hours earlier.<em>

Stiles didn't know how he'd gotten himself into this situation. He promised he had been good, this couldn't have been karma – _not that this is a bad situation_, he had to remind himself.

Movies at Scott's house, that's how it started, an innocent lack of room since Derek the usually sour wolf decided that for once he'd join them. She ended up next to him, pushed into his side and half on his lap, by pure accident.

They'd shared the bowel of gummy worms. He'd pick out the cherry ones because he knew they were her favourite and place them in a line of her leg, starting at the kneecap but since his sorting was faster than her eating, his hand brushed high against her creamy flesh, where her black dress had ridden up. Again, harmlessly.

But then they watched a horror movie and Lydia took extreme offense from the little girl who would sense death, saying the kid's skills as a banshee had much to be desired. But then the dead rose and things got scarier and she ended up cowering into Stiles' neck with fear, his arm wrapping around her and pulling her closer so he could flinch into her hair to obscure the screen. Her hair smelt like roses, he noticed, roses and apple – a peculiar scent that had Stiles intoxicated. In a completely friendly way of course.

But the next thing he knows, he's offered to walk her home since they've both had a drink. Enough to know that they shouldn't be driving, but not enough to have their judgement clouded, just their inhibitions lost.

She asks if she can sleep over at his since her mom was out and she didn't like the idea of going home to an empty house. And naturally, he'd said yes since she's stopped over a hundred times before. She'd always sleep in his bed and he's take the pull out couch or the floor. It was a meaningless question really.

But somehow, their lips crashed together as Stiles fumbled for the keys to the front door, knowing his dad would be in bed.

There was only time for top quick, no questions were asked about what this meant, they simply tiptoed up to Stiles' room and closed the door behind them.

They crash into the bedroom, Stiles' hands on Lydia's ass, holding her to his hips, long legs wrapped around him, squeezing tightly as their lips battle for dominance. A fight Stiles soon unexpectedly wins as a set of nimble hands pull on his hair. He stumbles backwards, Lydia's hands moving to his shoulders, gripping his plaid shirt and pulling it downwards, Stiles sets her down on the floor, letting the fabric fall discarded on the dark wooden flooring.

His plain grey t-shirt goes next, swift fingers making quick work of the thin fabric as Stiles watches the girl intently, her tongue poking out slightly at the corner of her smeared pink lips as she concentrates on pulling the fabric over him. She groans as she moves frantically, unable to function the easy contraption around his frame. And as much as he is enjoining the show, Stiles grows impatient, moving to join her hands to expertly remove his top.

Then their lips meet again; frantically, unmercifully, domineering and urgent. More turned on then he'd thought possible, Stiles' lips – slightly stained with Lydia's infamous pink – latch themselves to the creamy skin exposed by the black, off the shoulder dress she sports as his hands move to strawberry blonde hair to pull Lydia's head to the side, angling her neck for more exposure as he nips and sucks the flesh there. A terrific moan escaping her plump lips.

The next sound heard is a long rip, slow and loud and suddenly Lydia's dress has fallen to the floor. "I really liked that one," Lydia breathes frantically, hands using their position on Stiles' shoulders to push him back. She takes a moment to admire his bare chest, chiselled in an unexpected and subtle way, yet not bulky in the way that her previous boyfriends were regarded.

Stiles' mind was a sham, his voice betraying him as he stood facing the infamous banshee in nothing but her underwear. Light pink corset bra and boyshorts, coated in black lace. Nobody compared to Lydia, he knew that now. He finds words as he looks to the black fabric pooled at Lydia's feet, "I'll buy you a new one," he speaks with a wink and a smirk, "Though I like it much better on the floor."

Lydia bends slowly to remove her shoes, giving Stiles the perfect vantage point to check out her cleavage, a sight he welcomes, until he realises just what she's doing. "Stop," he speaks abruptly, leaving the strawberry blonde to freeze where she stood crouched, "Leave the shoes on."

An eyebrow raises on Lydia's face as she stands again, "Kinky," she remarks, "But as you wish."

As they stand there, undressing one another with their eyes and not their hands, Lydia takes this moment to control the situation. Moving her hands from her side to the back of her bra, she undoes the clasp, letting the fabric fall to the ground, feigning confidence as she takes a deep breath, watching Stiles' eyes widen.

"Are you sure about this Lydia?" He asks as she takes a step forward, curiosity burning bright in his eyes at what the night could hold, "'Cause very soon it'll get hard for me to stop." Instead of answering, she takes another step towards him, reaching out to undo his belt, and he springs into action.

Only seconds later, they fall onto Stiles' bed, naked and breathless, clothes discarded on the stumble over to this spot. Lips fighting, hands everywhere, breath mingled as Stiles pulls Lydia on top of him, her strawberry blonde hair cascading around them, shielding them from everything but each other.

Stiles runs his hands up her thighs, inviting a shiver from Lydia as he nears her core, kissing her feverishly. His fingers skim over the precise place she craves him most, finding it wet for him as she spreads her legs wider from where they are situated either side of his hips.

He flicks at her clit, pulling his lips from hers so he can watch her come apart above him. Lydia moans as two fingers plunge inside of her wet core, Stiles watching her writhe under his merciless assault. She's close; they both know it as he picks up speed, still circling unforgivingly at her clit. His mouth latches to one of her breasts, circling and nipping at the peak as his free hand follows the same pattern on the other.

Lydia's panting now, struggling for breath as she feels her insides boil and clench, stifling a scream as she lets go and comes ungracefully around his fingers, chanting his name over and over as she orgasms for the first time in a long time. And God, it's better than she remembers.

Stiles' lips move from Lydia's breast to her neck, fingers still coated in her liquids. She wants more, she wants him to want more. So she sits down over his erection, grasping for his hand and bringing it up to her mouth as he backs away from her neck, fully intrigued with curiosity.

She opens her mouth, closing it again around his dripping fingers, sucking her juices from them slowly. Stiles' eyes widen, basking in the sight of this beautiful woman atop him, licking her way around his wet fingers. If it were possible, he grows harder against Lydia's sex, inviting a provocative moan from both parties.

"What do you want, Lydia?" He asks, aroused, "You could ask me for everything I own and will ever own right now to have my way with you and I'd give you every last bit of me."

She moves her attention from his fingers to his lips, pulling his bottom lip with her teeth as she whispers, "Flip us," a gentle command Stiles is more than happy to oblige, now towering above her, leaning on his hands and knees as Lydia's legs wrap around him, heals digging into his ass.

"What now?" He questions, giving her all control and power.

She thinks for a moment before replying, "Kiss me."

"Where?" She raises an eyebrow, pointing to a spot just below her ear and trailing her hand down her neck, through the swell of her breasts, and down her stomach to her sex. Stiles' eyebrow raises to mimic her own, "It would be my pleasure."

He does as she asks; trailing light kisses along with the occasional nip and suck down towards her most sensitive spot. When he gets there, he pays particular attention to that spot. Using his tongue to circle the length of her slit as he kisses her clit, a deep throated groan escaping Lydia's lips as she tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth.

Stiles reaches up, pulling the lip from her mouth and quickly moving back up her body to kiss the bleeding flesh, tasting her juices on her lips as he does, a boy it's a curiously sweet taste mixed with the cherry of her lips.

He moves back down to her sex, not hesitating to plunge his tongue into her folds, swirling around as his hand grasps onto Lydia's wrist, pulling it down to where his tongue is pounding in and out, he removes it briefly to place her thumb on her clit and speaks hoarsely, "Rub," he commands with unheard of confidence that leaves Lydia curious as to what she has unleased in him, but she does as she's asked, stimulating herself as his hands come up to tweak her nipples.

And soon, that same building sensation builds in her core and she screams Stiles' name once more, followed by panting and a warning, "I'm gonna…" she doesn't finish as Stiles pinches both nipples and nudges her thumb with his nose to press harder on her clit, she comes hard and fast, Stiles' tongue following her juices as he laps them up, tasting every last drop.

He leans back up to her face, seeing her spent, panting and breathless. "You okay?" he asks, a coy smile plastered on his face, and he leans down to peck her lip, sucking the last drop of blood her teeth extracted.

"I guess I owe you two orgasms," she pants, sitting up as he leans back so they're sat opposite one another, but they don't stay like that for long. Lydia leans forward, pushing Stiles backwards to lie at the foot of his bed and she straddles him, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Her kisses become mobile, moving their way to his earlobe and sucking on it, eliciting a moan from Stiles that urges her forward. She kisses down his neck to the top of his chest, before taking a path downwards, taking the time to peck each and every freckle and mole she sees. And soon her lips are trailing down his manhood until she reaches the tip, her tongue swirling around, tasting the first hint of his juices.

Taking him into her mouth, she uses her tongue to continue to trail around the tip and she brings her hands down to the base. Using her littlest finger, she stimulates his balls, flicking and caressing with only one finger as the others rub along the base of his shaft, her head bobbing up and down as she thrusts him into her mouth.

Stiles writhes beneath her administrations, locking eyes with her as she deep throats him without gagging. His hips buck up to meet her thrusts and soon he feels a tightening coil in the pit of his stomach, "Lyd …" he begins to warn, "God I'm gonna come, Honey."

He feels her smirk against his shaft as he lets go, coming under her assault and into her waiting mouth. She backs away from him and swallows so she knows that he sees, before collapsing atop of his chest.

"Do you not have a gag reflex?" He asks breathlessly, tightening his arms around her.

"No. My mom's a terrible cook, but for all her neglect she felt like she made up for it with a home cooked meal every Saturday night. It was always disgusting, I'm immune to gagging." Lydia confesses, adjusting her position slightly so she can stare into his eyes.

"Well isn't that good to know," he says slowly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, "ready for your third orgasm of the night?"

"Three?" She asks, sitting up, "What did I do to deserve three?"

Stiles smiles up at her, "Gotta stay on your good side if you've got no gag reflex," he jokes as Lydia shifts herself to straddle him, "Condom?"

She reaches to her discarded purse and pulls out a blue wrapper, "Always be prepared," she mimics every adult known, opening the foil with her teeth and rolling it slowly down Stiles' shaft.

Then, Lydia places him at her entrance, taking it upon herself to lower her body down so he fills her, the perfect fit. They move in sync meeting one another's thrusts as they pick up speed, flesh wet with perspiration clapping together in the sex filled heat of the room.

Their lips meet, silencing one another's moans and pants as they near ecstasy. Only do they pull apart when Lydia opens her mouth to a hearty scream of his name, the sound filling the room and bouncing off the walls, Stiles' moans an ever-towering crescendo of white noise. Lydia's head fall back, her strawberry blonde hair smacking against her ass as her back arches, only adding to the overload of sensations.

Lydia leans down to bite down on Stiles' neck, bringing him closer to the edge as he begs her name, "Come with me baby," he says, panting. The endearment feels alien to Lydia's ears, never before had the name not sounded cheesy, overused and basic, it felt right. "God, Lydia."

"I'm there Stiles, God I'm there!" She screams as she explodes inwardly, coming around him as he simultaneously fills the condom. Lydia falling exhausted down on Stiles' chest, him still inside her, they lay like this for a while, before Stiles gets uncomfortable and moves to discard of the rubber.

When he returns, he finds Lydia fast asleep in his discarded shirt back on the right end of the bed. With most guys, this would have been when she would slip out, left a note on her bedside table saying she had to head off and she'd call him. Only, she hadn't gotten his number first. Oops.

But not Stiles, instead, she slips into his bed and when he joins her, she wraps herself around him, sighing in contentment.


	3. Grief

_AN: This one isn't too long – I apologise for that, especially since the last one was over 4,000 words long, this is a bit of a shock to the system._

_I wrote something similar to this as a one-shot called 'For Now' which was again Stydia, but this is the improved re-write for this series._

_As you've probably realised, I'm trying to do more complex emotions than just 'happiness' or 'anger' so I'm thinking of doing 'insecurity' after this one. Does that sound promising? _

_As always, please review and give emotion suggestions._

* * *

><p><strong>Grief.<strong>

There was a short, swift knock at Lydia Martin's white painted bedroom door. It was commanding, making the poster on her side of the entrance shake slightly, in perfect synchronisation as the strawberry blonde on the bed. The noise was followed abruptly by tranquillising tone of "It's me. Can I come in?"

Lydia sat up from where she was lay on her mauve sheets, wiping stray tears from her eyes but uncaring about the black mascara that ran down her flushed cheeks and streaked with the smudged pink lipstick she had been wearing.

She recognised the voice, he needed no more explanation or introduction, she could merely feel his presence outside of her room. _Stiles_.

The teenage girl almost told him no, that she didn't want him to see her like this, that she just wanted to be alone. But he had lost Allison too, not to mention the possession business he'd just been through.

She couldn't be selfish, it wasn't in her nature. So she blinked back tears that were threatening to fall once more – not that she believed there was anything in her left to physical cry out, but instead she thought of Stiles, he must have been suffering. He must have been seeking comfort.

And so, in a strained and cracked voice she spoke "Yes."

Stiles opens the door slowly, peering his head around it before taking a step in. It's obvious that he has shed tears for the lost hunter too, though he saw the state of Lydia and ran to her side, knowing she suffered more than him at the death of her best friend.

The teenage boy was suddenly overfilled with gladness that he still has his best friend, his brother, who was currently sat at home being comforted by his mother, Stiles knew better than to stay, he'd check on Scott in the morning.

His next thought was Lydia, she'd lost her best friend. She'd lost her sister. She's grieving as much as Stiles would if he lost Scott.

He felt compelled to go and comfort his closest female friend.

Stiles sits beside her on the bed, pulling her into him as another wave of tears hits the girl that are absorbed into his shirt.

His hand strokes her hair, soothing her as she shakes into him, and soon small tears are leaking from his eyes too – for Allison, for Lydia, for Scott.

She grips his spare hand tightly, seeking the comfort and warmth it brought her. Stiles gives a small smile at the action, holding tighter to her already firm grip. He began to stroke his thumb across her skin, attacked by blinding flashes of what had happened.

The illusion. Transforming the Nogitsune. The fight. Allison's death. It all flashed before his eyes, only Lydia was stuck on pause, the sight of Allison in Scott's arms burning darkly behind her eyes.

"It was all just so fast." Lydia spoke quietly, tears paused momentarily, the travesty of her loss sinking her heart.

Stiles could only nod and squeeze the girl's hand comfortingly.

"Thank you for coming, it must be late." She spoke again, straining through misty eyes to see the clock on her nightstand, it was well into the next morning now, and somehow she doubted any of them would be going into school that day.

Stiles stopped his rhythmic pattern on her head and leaned around to catch a loose strand of strawberry blonde hair, twisting it around his finger before hanging it back behind her ear. "I'd do anything for you Lydia," he replied, letting his honest words hang in the air.

She raised her head from the crook of his neck, looking up at him with her boldly smudged yet still fathoming eyes "After the past few weeks," her voice breaks on the words, "I'm beginning to believe that the feeling is mutual." She confesses with a blush.

"Really?"

The girl nodded and lent towards him slowly, leaving the dumb-struck boy to move the rest of the short distance. When only millimetres separated them, the strawberry blonde pounced the remaining space, capturing his lips with hers.

Something in the air was wrong, but then again there was something so right there too.

Both of them knew this was for comfort, that if Allison hadn't have died they'd have continued their quiet assault behind the eyes, never admitting the truth.

Lydia knew it would have happened eventually, she knew it as well as she knew her own name. So she didn't feel too guilty about the timing. It was unfortunate, yes, but she needed him now, and he needed her, they needed the comfort.

Seconds passed, mouths opened and hands tangled into hair.

Stiles whispered "I love you" into her lips, and she continued to kiss him, smiling into him when she heard.

Stiles knew that she wasn't ready to tell him what he had just told her, it had been easy for him - he had been in love with her since the third grade. But this was still new to her and he accepted that.

It would happen one day, but for now he'd just have to be there for her. Something he was happy to do.

* * *

><p>"Allison was more than just my best friend. She was my sister. She was always the very first person I went to when I had news, good or bad. Without her I wouldn't be the girl I am now, she taught me what it meant to care, and to be brave and strong. She was always so brave and strong.<p>

"She died a heroes death, the one everyone longs for. She died saving her friends, and I know that she'd be proud of that, she'd be satisfied, Allison was never one to do things in half.

"I loved her. It was impossible not to love her. She was funny and kind and wise… She was as close to perfect as I've ever seen anyone be and I was so lucky to be her best friend.

"The moment she was gone I felt it, this ache in my heart for her, a space that she will always occupy. No one will ever be worthy of replacing her, she was one of a kind.

"And I miss her. So, so much."

Lydia wipes the tears from her eyes, picking up the rose from where she had placed it on the podium and slowly makes her way to the coffin ready to be lowered into the ground.

She places the white version of the iconic flower where she knows Allison's head would be, leaning down to press a kiss to the dark wooden casket.

And then she whispers, so that only Allison and herself can hear, "Feel free to frown Allison, someone has already fallen in love with your smile, and I'll never forget it."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Okay, that took a turn I wasn't expecting to take but I'm glad I did. I'm sorry for the tangent at the end, I felt like I owed it to Lydia and Allison's friendship to dwell. <em>

_I'm 70% sure that the next chapter will be insecurity unless I come up with something better._

_Until then…_


	4. Infatuation

_AN: for those of you who don't know, here is the definition of infatuation:_

_Infatuation: an immense but short-lived passion or admiration for someone or something._

_I know you thought I'd be doing Insecurity next, I did too, but it's proving a little difficult to portray what I want to portray for that particular emotion, so it is in the works but in the meantime I've googled 'obscure emotions' and got a whole list of 'em._

_Enjoy and as always… review?_

_Oh and this is meant to be a bit out of character._

* * *

><p><strong>Infatuation.<strong>

Everyone was used to the fighting by now. It was a regular occurrence nowadays for the pair. One minute they were at each other's throats, spewing insult after insult and spitting venomous words behind the other's back. But then, faster than you could leave them to it they'd be sighing and moaning each other's name, clawing away at clothing and leaving marks on skin.

It was dysfunctional. It was even painful sometimes. But it was them.

Stiles and Lydia. Lydia and Stiles. They are what they are.

All of their friends were well aware of why such mood swings occurred: a result of too much love, too much lust and too much hate all wrapped up with a nice little bow of pride. It was a dangerous combination. And because of this, their relationship should have been as fragile as a butterfly, but instead – by some miracle – held as sturdy as a rock.

Lydia fought against Stiles spontaneity, lecturing him on the importance of plans and organisation. She hated the way his room was always untidy, she always argued that it made for an untidy mind but Stiles never backed down. Sometimes she thought he cared too much, she had gotten use to Jackson all those years ago that she refrained from being looked after until she met Stiles, but she was still wounded, still insecure about receiving help, still unable to accept that someone could care about her more than they did themselves. She'd fought many fights with her boyfriend over this.

But then there were moments of sheer bliss, when she caught a certain look in his eyes or his voice got raspy that she'd want nothing but to pounce on him, give him everything as he took her all night long until the passion died down.

She was infatuated with him in these moments

Stiles hated the way Lydia was always right, it was something that used to pull him to her until he shared her bed. When he's trying to be spontaneous and passionate by making love to her in a respective and sultry manner and she pipes up about how this position or that position, and this angle of penetration and that angle would make for a better 'experience' it's a real mood killer for him – only briefly though as those positions and angles are utterly indescribable. But even so, for a moment he wants to roll his eyes despite being severely erect.

But good god when she drops the top layers off, standing in front of him in silk and lace he can barely remember his own name, but he knows hers, and he moans it. And the way her hair falls around them when she's on top to shield them from the outside, to enclose them in a world of their own unadulterated lust, it's enough to drive him wild.

He's decided that in these moments he's infatuated with her.

* * *

><p><em>"Why do you always think that you're better than me Lydia?"<em>

"_I don't!"_

"_Then why do you treat me like a child?"_

"_Because you act like one!"_

"_Me? What about you? You're the one who has to pick a fight about everything!"_

"_That's because you make everything seem like such hard work! Why can't you, for once in your life, be a grown-up?"_

"_You want me to show you how 'grown-up' I am?"_

"_Go on then 'Big-boy' impress me."_

"_Oh I will."_

Before she could take another breath, Stiles was around her side of the desk, picking up her legs and wrapping them around his waist as he sat her on the cool metal. She stops thinking of the past and can only think of the present.

His mouth suddenly takes her without hesitation, kissing her in the shadows of the bedroom, his or hers – she doesn't know, it's all just a blur to her now. Everything around her feels trivial, the cool of the metal under her, the ache in her arm from working out early that morning, her paper on the Spanish inquisition hitting the floor, all meaningless against the feel of Stiles' hands running wild along each crevice of her body, his erection pounding into her thigh, his rough lips engulfing hers with every movement.

He is hungry for her, she can feel it in the way he moves, he is infatuated with her.

She is hungry for him, she can feel it pooling in the pit of her stomach, she is infatuated with him.

He doesn't ask permission, or wait for her to let his tongue roam into her mouth, he takes, pulling her lips apart with the momentum of his tongue piercing through her, now fighting in a battle for dominance with hers, she eventually gives in to him.

Calloused fingers slip into her golden tresses, forcing her head back to present the skin of her neck to him, a throbbing vein running down so prominent against the white of her. He takes this opportunity to sink his mouth to that spot, sucking at the vein as it pulses faster at his touch.

His hands release themselves from her hair as he knows she'll behave, still granting him undying access to her throat, neck and shoulder as he pulls her jacket down her arms to release such skin. Hands delving down to pull at her top, only breaking his attention from her neck long enough to remove the garment.

Her legs are still wrapped around him, pulling him in close until she can feel his hunger pulse against her own as she knows she's wet for him. She jolts forward into him, a dangerous growl leaving his lips as she realises what she's done.

This isn't her Stiles.

She made him resort to this animalistic urge with only her earlier words.

She didn't care.

With a gasp, he hauls her off of the table, twisting her so she's bent against the cool metal instead, the cold on her stomach the perfect contrast to the heat she feels inside. Her toes barely touch the ground but she doesn't care, she knows that even in this predator state of mind, he'll catch her before she falls.

He gives no warning, in fact she's not even sure when he had dropped his pants and boxers before delving inside of her. But that's where he is, strong and hard and fierce. All she can think about is how much more she wants, how much faster she wants it and how many times she can take it before she'll faint.

He takes her, there is no two ways about it. She doesn't get a say, she doesn't meet his thrusts, he's pounding into her so hard she can't remember her own name, but she remembers his, and takes every opportunity to moan or scream or sigh his name, letting the word echo throughout wherever it is they are – she can't remember.

They fall into a state of feeling, nothing else matters except the way they're fitting together as he thrusts into her from behind, feeling how tight and wet she is and how big and hard he is.

His hands are on her hips, leaving bruises as he uses his grip to thrust her into him as he does the same, taking control of the entire situation, not leaving her with even the mind capacity to think. He is touching her core, her body writhing beneath him in utter bliss and she can do nothing but scream every syllable of his name like it's his own melody, urging him on as she falls over the edge into ecstasy. Then he is gone from behind her.

She thinks it is over.

She thinks he's done.

She doesn't know if she can take any more.

But next thing she's aware of, she's lying down on the cool metal of the table, his chocolate brown eyes staring intensely at her as he repeats the notion again, just as fast, just as fierce and just as sensational, watching her spill his name from her pink lips mindlessly as a whisper, unable to form anything more coherent.

And he takes her a third time, just as wild and reckless, just as brutal, just as extraordinary.

And again, this time carrying her to the bed and taking his time to please her with his tongue, just as merciless and breath-taking.

And then for a fifth time (she doesn't know how either of them have got it in them,) expecting nothing in return as he gives her a fifth and final orgasm – something she was yet to experience and he was yet to give. Not as ruthless, not as ferocious as the other times, yet still just as astonishing.

And then she lays in his arms, worries and complex feelings forgotten as she feels an overwhelming sense of pleasure as aftershocks relish her body as his hands do, tracing the pattern where her bruising will show.

"_Grown up enough for you?"_

"_I still think you should put a filing system in order, you're room is still a mess despite the mind-blowing sex."_


End file.
